


Everything We Thought We Knew Until Now

by Kaiosea



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol (not during sex), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, First Meetings, Flirting, Light Praise Kink, M/M, Parties, University, Weird Sex, light kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiosea/pseuds/Kaiosea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin meets Eren. Eren likes Armin. Armin thinks he probably likes Eren back, but Eren doesn’t like Armin’s practical application of morality. They kiss anyways and talk about it, not over sex, and then over sex. It’s all a little strange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything We Thought We Knew Until Now

**Author's Note:**

> born out of this idea that wouldn't leave me alone: "what if armin and eren didn't meet as childhood friends but at a succession of parties as young adults and didn't immediately befriend each other?"

There was a guy across the room who had been staring at Armin a little too long. When Armin went to get a beer from the refrigerator, he verified this by glancing back as he straightened up, that the guy was still looking at him with large green eyes, though he bit his lips and looked away obviously when he noticed Armin had caught him. They had yet to officially be introduced, and Armin wasn’t sure why he was looking in the first place. 

He and Annie had made the mistake of arriving at Jean’s apartment too close to the start time of the party, and though Annie could shut herself away in the bathroom and read a book on the toilet with no shame until more guests arrived, it would have looked weird for both of them to sit there together. 

Next time he was calling dibs first. 

But for now, the guy with the green eyes and the staring was walking up to him, and it was too early in the night to feign close relationships with strangers, so Armin wasn’t sure what they wanted. 

“Hi, I’m Eren.”

“Hi, Eren,” said Armin, using the trick his grandfather had taught him for remembering someone’s name. “I’m Armin.” 

“Armin. Haha, our names kinda rhyme.” 

“Yeah.” 

“What a party, isn’t it?” 

“Right.” Armin did not feel drunk enough to talk smoothly with someone he didn’t know. 

“The only problem with this thing is the jerk who’s hosting it.” 

Armin drew his drink closer to his body. “I like Jean.” 

“That guy?” Eren looked across the room, where Jean was talking to a girl Armin didn’t know. Upon seeing Eren, Jean made eye contact and decisively turned his back to him. 

Armin shrugged and smiled. 

“He’s not your—” Eren gulped, and Armin could see him think fast. “Is he?” 

Eren’s face turned red, and Armin realized what he meant, feeling both offended and flattered. He was starting to like the way the conversation was going.

“No, no no no.” It wasn’t like Armin hadn’t thought about it, but there were certain incompatibilities that he’d thought wouldn’t work out in the end. 

Eren’s face stayed red. “Sorry, he has a major crush on someone right now, but he won’t tell me who, and I… I just wanted to ask.” 

“I thought he was a jerk?” 

“He is, but he’s also my roommate. It’s our place.” Eren windmilled his arms to indicate the entirety of the apartment. 

“Nice.” It wasn’t that nice, but by now Armin knew what it meant when a guy came up to him and asked if he had a boyfriend, though he’d never had it happen so early in the night. Besides, Eren’s eyes looked nicer up-close, though there was a strange quality to them; his messy hair wasn't bad either.

Eren explained that he’d been abroad the previous term, and Armin guessed that was why they hadn’t met before now, though he’d heard Jean talk affectionately about his “asshole roommate.” He was getting interested in where Eren had studied and how he’d found the experience, but before he could ask, the door burst open. Armin saw a couple people he recognized from previous parties pour into the apartment, and Eren gave a small wave back at Armin as he went to greet them, enveloping a tall Asian girl in an enthusiastic hug that she barely cracked a smile at. 

Maybe Armin had read him all wrong, and she was his girlfriend. 

Annie finally came out of the bathroom. Armin got a drink for her and they cloistered themselves on the couch, ignoring the news on TV. As the night went on, more people enveloped them in conversations, some of which Armin found more interesting than others. Annie got deeply involved in a serious conversation with the girl Eren had hugged on her way in, whose name was Mikasa. 

Armin mostly wondered if Eren would come talk to him again. 

Eren was distracted, though, not talking intently with anyone. He was trying to DJ with his laptop, but he kept cutting off one song before it had finished, too excited for the next one to start. Each song was Eren’s ultimate favorite song. 

He also kept taking shots in-between numbers, so there was that. 

“Stop changing the fucking music and get over here,” called Jean, beckoning Eren with an impatient arm. 

“Fine, whatever!” Eren tapped the screen a few times, setting up a queue, and then came over to sit on the floor since there wasn’t room on the chairs or couch. 

They were talking about the current story on the news, the fleeting thing that had caught their collectively drunk attention. It was something about a politician who’d done something he wasn’t supposed to, as politicians tended to do. 

Jean thought it was a good thing he had apologized, and Annie and Mikasa were saying they didn’t care either way, not about politics. The other two of Jean’s friends, Sasha and Connie, had gone upstairs to try drunk-ordering chicken wings, so there were only five of them left in the TV room.

“Does it matter, really?” Armin said, not realizing how loudly his voice echoed. Eren must have turned the music down. 

“What d’you mean?” said Jean. 

“Apologies are a social norm. So this guy, it doesn’t matter if he meant it or not, he had to say something to keep his pathetic political career. But either way most apologies don’t come out of any sense of moral center, if that’s what we’re talking about. Which I think it is.” 

Annie nodded, and Mikasa leaned forward as if interested, but Jean looked up to the ceiling, uncomfortable.

“Do you think people can apologize for real?” Mikasa asked. 

“They can.” Armin was aware of how quiet the room had gotten. “I’m not sure how often it happens.” 

“What would you do if someone apologized to you?” Jean said, still frowning.

“I’d accept it. Acceptance of apologies, it’s also a social norm.” 

“So you don’t believe people have a moral center that makes them want to apologize on their own?” Now Eren furrowed his brow. 

Armin chose his words carefully, or as carefully as he could five drinks in. “I believe a lot of people don’t.” 

Eren switched his mouth over to one side and stared into his drink. As the group conversation turned to other, less intense topics, Armin’s heart sank. 

It was that honesty problem again, the one he kept running into. When people said, how are you? They didn’t want to know a pigeon shat on you in the rain the one day you forgot your umbrella, so you were fucked for your final thesis presentation. They didn’t want to know you owned your thesis presentation with bird shit in your hair and got a standing ovation. 

They wanted you to default from either end to fine. 

The night devolved fast, ending with a late-night run to the convenience store, Eren buying three mini-packs of jelly beans while refusing suggestions that he should get the large bag, Annie and Mikasa sparring in the parking lot, Sasha with a knapsack to carry the hundreds of potato chips she purchased, Annie and Mikasa getting thrown out of the convenience store for sparring in the parking lot, and Jean happily hugging Armin (and anyone else that came within an arm-length’s of him), singing the national anthem down the street. Armin joined in for the parts he agreed with. 

And Eren shook Armin’s hand vigorously on his way out. 

 

*

 

Jean made Armin promise to come to the next party, too. 

“Armin, hi!” Eren jumped up when he saw him at the door, looking like he was restraining himself from offering a hug. His smile went straight through Armin’s chest. 

Armin and Annie had arrived properly late this time, and Armin quickly felt behind on the drinking thing, though he wished he didn’t. Right on schedule, Eren asked if he could get Armin anything. When Armin said yes, Eren led him to the kitchen and opened the fridge so Armin could pick what he wanted—the same process as every time Armin had been over to Jean’s place before. He obviously didn’t need Eren’s guidance for that. Yet as soon as Armin uncapped his drink, Eren was gone, through the door into the main room faster than Armin could follow. 

By now, Armin thought he knew when someone was trying to pick him up. Eren, though, confused that paradigm. 

Annie was having problems with her professor. “He won’t accept alternate opinions,” she said. 

They let out a collective groan. “Been there.” 

“Even for a stubborn old guy, I say he’s pretty much the worst.” Ymir, a new addition to the parties, affirmed that she shared Annie’s class. Unlike Annie, it didn’t count for her degree. 

Annie pushed hair off her face. “Journalism. He claims that it’s important for journalism to always remain objective. The problem is that his definition of objectivity is fucking wrong.”

Armin had already heard about this, starting from the very first class Annie’d had with the guy. That explanation had involved a lot more swearing and projectile household objects. 

“He’s got opinions about which kinds of people deserve more respect in the press—but he’d never say anything outright. He has no interest in changing or accepting outside opinions.” 

“Is that a big deal?” Connie said. Eren shushed him. 

“It goes on and on like this,” Annie said, slightly more animated than sober. It was an odd look for her. “Where to bait with a headline, and where it’s ‘inappropriate.’ Which subjects do all the baiting for you—like tragedy.” 

“This is why the news always sucks,” Ymir said. “But guys, listen. The worst part is that this douchebag’s smart.” 

Annie interrupted, “He’s smart but has no interest in trying to think of new ways to do things. I don’t have a problem with learning wrong things, if he would say that they were wrong. Or—just—discussing new ways to do things before we have to go back and do it this dumb way.”

Armin had no delusions about being smart making anyone better than anyone else. Speaking up, he asked Annie, “Have you changed your mind about what to do about the grade?” 

“If I say what I think, or write it the way I want without the conventional framing, I will fail,” Annie said, for the others’ benefit. 

“Oh yeah, the prostitution question,” Ymir cut in. “Me, I’m going to agree with him in all my writing. No point in arguing for something if it’ll just hurt my grade.” 

Armin got the impression that Eren was frowning. They were sat next to each other, with Eren casually burning heat into Armin’s side. He noticed that half the group (Sasha, Connie, and some other friends whose names Armin wasn’t quite sure of) had snuck out and begun playing a drinking game in the kitchen. 

“I think the truth is obvious,” said Eren.

“Which way?” Armin asked. 

“Fail it. Say what you think. That’s why we spend years here, right? Not to give in to tedious academic crap.” 

“I have a scholarship that could be partially endangered if I fail the course,” Annie replied coolly. 

Eren seemed angry for a second, and then his mouth shut, face clearing. 

Armin decided to walk through the same conversation he’d had with Annie at their apartment a few weeks ago. “But it’s unlikely you’ll do so badly you fail. What about emailing him? What about doing a partial critique in addition to your routine assignments? Won’t it be depressing to remember caving in when you think back?”

“Should I fruitlessly give up money, just for the pointless cause of my own personal ethics.” 

Armin gave the standard response. “Is it pointless? You never know what will plant the seed of an idea.” 

“Playing it safe is the best option. I’m more important than falling on a sword for an ideal.” 

They made eye contact, aware that the others were watching them carefully and that they’d reached a standstill with the argument once again. 

Armin set his drink on the carpet. “He won’t change his mind,” he said, more quietly. “You should keep all of your scholarship completely safe. Do what Ymir’s doing.” 

Annie shook her head. “I can’t cave like that.” She sat back against the couch and crossed her legs, brushing up against one of Mikasa’s calves. Armin became aware of the song playing from Eren’s computer, a pop ballad, and the noise coming from the kitchen. 

“I’m confused,” Jean said, tipping back his mug to swallow the last drops. 

“You really take opposite sides on the opinions you actually believe?” Mikasa rolled her eyes. “That’s silly.”

Armin smiled, and Annie half-smiled back, flicking her hair out of her eyes. 

“Who wants wine, I’m opening some bottles,” Sasha called from the kitchen. Connie and —Hitch, that was her name, and a couple others filtered back in. 

Everyone wanted wine. 

“No thanks, I drank too much red as a kid,” Armin said. 

They stared at him and then laughed. 

“Oh, you did?” Eren stopped laughing first. 

Armin was probably tipsy. He had forgotten the part where he had to pretend to be joking when he said things like that.

Annie began to whistle. 

“I’ll make you something else,” said Eren. He’d gone strangely silent through Annie and Armin’s conversation, and he offered Armin a fair smile. His fingers tapped Armin’s palm before he stood up, and it felt too warm. “You should come watch me.” 

Armin followed him, miraculously high-fiving Sasha despite the three dark bottles she carried in her arms as she left the now-deserted kitchen. 

“What d’you want?”

Armin said anything was fine, and Eren started bustling through the shelves, inefficiently taking down bottles and putting them back up until he came to a decision, holding one up so Armin could see it. Armin nodded. It was a nice brand of bourbon, probably one of Jean’s. 

Eren splashed a sugar cube with water from the sink. With a fork, he began smashing the cube violently into the bottom of a glass. 

Armin stood there and watched this go on for several minutes, the grinding noise hard on his ears. Eren then splashed the glass with more water, put in a few dashes of bitters, and added the whisky, stirring with the same fork. 

“Sorry it’s not very sexy, for a drink.” Eren pushed it over. 

Armin drank. It didn’t burn that much, and it felt hot in his stomach. Strangely, his pulse sped up, like he could feel the blood in his veins beating in his wrists. He drank again. 

“How’s it?”

Armin swallowed. “It’s a little sexy.” He rubbed his wrist. Eren looked very pleased and began the process again, smashing the sugar, adding the rest of the substances, and stirring. A spot of liquid fell out of the glass while he stirred, and Armin went and got a washcloth to wipe it up even as Eren protested that it was fine. 

“Want an egg?”

“What?”

“I think it makes things taste better.” Eren hopped to the refrigerator and took out two eggs. He cracked one and put it in his drink, throwing the shells in the sink. 

Armin gave in, reckless enough in the moment. “You can put just the whites in mine.” Permanent damage was incredibly unlikely. 

Eren cracked the egg open and passed the yolk back and forth between the shells until the whites had dripped into Armin’s glass. 

So fast that Armin almost missed it, Eren lifted the half-shell that still harbored the yolk, and the yellow sun fell into his mouth. He swallowed it in one go. 

Armin stared at Eren's lips, genuinely shocked. 

Peals of laughter surged from the other room—probably another drinking game. 

Eren asked, “Do you want to go back in? It’s truth or dare.”

“Not really.” 

“Um…" Eren scratched his head. "Wanna go see the balcony?”

 

*

 

Armin thought he knew what it meant to be given a drink and asked out onto a cheesy, rundown balcony, but an hour or so and several drinks later he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

He was leaning over the edge of the balcony rail, catching his feet on the holes between the pillars at the base, and they were arguing. 

“Well, but what if Mikasa was in a situation where you thought she was wrong, but you didn’t like whoever she was arguing with?”

“I’d support her immediately.” 

Armin smiled. “You see the contradiction in that, don’t you?” 

“No,” Eren said too quickly to have thought about it at all. “Why should there be one?” 

“Because—” 

“Whatever,” Eren said, but not dismissively. “I just like Mikasa more than I want to be right sometimes, or tell the truth or whatever.” 

Armin wondered what that was like. There was Annie, but they had a mutual understanding with each other, and it involved looking out for themselves first and others second. He didn’t understand loyalties to things that were more or less than a person. 

“What I mean by all this is.” Eren’s tongue darted over his bottom lip. “I don’t think I’m saying this right, least not right now. But. You’re interesting, and I like you.”

Armin had the urge to pretend like he hadn’t heard, but he wasn’t that callous or even that uninterested. It was simply too open said outright like that, for him and an entire audience of stars and clouds and bugs to hear and absorb. It was too quick, and the timing wasn’t right. 

“Thanks,” Armin said, looking out at the other houses on the street. 

“Hey, I have to pee.” Eren straightened up. 

Armin shook his cup. The drink was very strong, and it was his… third? Fourth? Hopefully his third. Eren looked really nice tonight. Even if he was dead wrong. He was too amped up to focus clearly on one thought, and he hadn’t come to any conclusions on anything by the time Eren got back. 

“So where does sex come into all of this stuff about morals?” asked Eren, leaning over the railway. 

Eren was wearing tight jeans, and it was an attractive lean, lazy and flaunting. 

Armin spluttered into what was left of his drink. “Where are you coming from with it?”

“I dunno, people usually connect sex with morals—or not having morals. Usually one of those two.” 

Feeling clouded, Armin said, “What does sex have to do with morals?”

“That’s what I’m asking.” 

“I don’t get how they’re related. Apart from the basic human decency clause.” 

“So if two people want to have sex with each other…”

“And it’s not hurting them or others, then,” Armin took a deep breath. “Wait, I am probably forgetting something. Let me make you a list.” 

“I don’t have paper.” Eren inched his hand along the railway towards Armin’s. 

With his other hand, Armin patted his pockets down clumsily, accidentally hitting himself on the ass. “Well, I don’t have a pen!” He chortled at how hilarious he was. “Yeah, I’m drunk,” he affirmed to himself, inspecting how far away his hand was from his face, trying to make sure he could still judge distance properly. 

“What about drunk stuff and sex?” 

“You mean do I do it while drunk? Depends on—depends on how drunk I am… or how much I want sex,” said Armin, and he blatantly watched Eren’s throat as he swallowed. “I’m sure I forgot something again. Kissing’s always okay, though.” 

“Yeah?” said Eren, his eyes lighting up. 

By now, Armin knew an open invitation when he saw one, and he went into the kiss at full force. 

It was somewhat the same as the last time he’d made out with someone a number of months ago. The scent of body odor sprawled close enough to taste—Eren’s was reminiscent of the hand-towels inside the apartment’s bathroom. It felt like his mind was building something, a creation of long tension resolving and fragmenting again, and Armin leaned forward, sensing Eren counterbalancing to match, back pressed into the railway. 

His mouth felt hot, and Eren’s tongue licked over his. They tasted of the same flavor, alcohol-spiked and strong. Armin let his hand find its way to Eren’s waist, appreciating the curve through his T-shirt. 

“Eren! Where are you?”

“Time to go, Arlert!” 

Eren broke away and almost fell over the rail. Splinters of wood fell to the ground a story or two below.

“Shit! Oh my—Is it okay?”

Perplexed and looking down to where he would have fallen, Eren said, “Yeah.” It worried Armin a little, that Eren wasn’t worried at all. 

“Coming!” Armin yelled into the window. He didn’t mind if anyone had seen them. 

On the way home, he and Annie each felt vaguely sick, but they made it back. Armin went over the kiss in his mind, hoping it wouldn’t be too sloppy in Eren’s memory. 

 

*

 

“You went through this philosophy thing last week,” Mikasa complained, pushing Annie’s shoulder away from hers. “No more, please.”

“But you’re a nihilist, Mikasa,” Annie said quietly. Armin laughed, almost spilling his full drink on Sasha. It was early in the night, and he was staying purposefully slow on his alcohol consumption in case Eren showed up. He had a question he wanted to ask. 

Mikasa shrugged. “Like I care about that.” 

“Ugh, talk about ontology instead if you have to do school shit.” Jean walked on his knees over to them, handing Sasha a fresh beer. “I’ve got a test, so tell me about it.” 

It was fairly midnight, and Armin was already hazy, but when he looked at Annie she just shook her head, probably bored of the discussion already. 

Eren came in scuffing his feet, wearing some kind of work uniform. 

Armin straightened up immediately, holding his chest proud. He spoke very fast. “The nature of being, basically. Discussing the thing itself. Lots of difficulties in—uh, framing the specific language.”

“What’s advanced about any of that? It’s all a bunch of masturbation.” Ymir grinned lecherously.

“Masturbation?” said Jean. 

“Don’t get him started,” said Sasha, elbowing Jean in the ribs. Connie hollered a laugh. 

“It’s better than the stuff about apologies,” Jean said, making a face at Sasha. “People not meaning them… Eh, I forgot.”

“Yeah, you know, people aren’t like that,” said Eren, looking at the floor. He dropped his backpack on the floor, mouth sealed into a pout. He punctuated his words with exaggerated hand gestures. “It’s okay to believe. They’re not going to lie to you or ditch you for someone better. Sure, I guess, okay maybe there are people who do things like that, but maybe they think they’re doing it right, for themselves or something. People do things, and you can’t stop them if they don’t have morals, whatever. The thing you said.” 

“Way to irrelevant speech, Eren,” said Jean, trying to clap one hand against itself in the air to underwhelming effect. 

Annie didn’t whistle this time. 

Mikasa looked over at Eren and smiled—it didn’t look like a smile, but Armin somehow knew what it was. “I don’t think that’s exactly what we were talking about.” 

Armin refined the question he wanted to ask Eren. 

“Bad day at work?” Jean said. 

“Going to sleep, I think.” Eren suddenly smiled. “Hi, Armin.” He picked up his bag again and stomped to his room. 

“Hi, Armin,” Annie said. Armin narrowed his eyes at her. 

Not fifteen minutes later, a freshly showered Eren poked his head into the room. “I changed my mind. Hey, Arminnnn,” he said, and it felt shockingly playful, how casually he drew out his name. 

Eren asked him to see the balcony again, and this time Armin knew what he meant. 

 

*

 

It was warmer outside than the last time Armin had stood here, feet shoved into the wood, precariously leaning over the edge. 

“I’m saying it is a relative term.” Eren did a higher voice. 

Armin laughed, throwing his head forward. They were really just postponing now. “You mean approximate.” 

“Approximate, hippopotamus.” 

“But you’re definitely not drunk.” Armin squeezed his hand. 

“No sir,” said Eren, squeezing back. “Giddy, I guess.” 

Armin knew how to flirt back. “And why is that?” He cast his gaze downwards and to the side, playing self-conscious. 

“I’ve just thought about this before.” Eren wrinkled his nose when he laughed, and he tugged Armin away from the edge and back inside. They tumbled down the hall into a messy bedroom, Eren shutting the door behind them with his foot. 

Kissing Eren went mostly the same way as the first time—the same heat, Eren’s unique smell, but Armin felt more unrestrained, more private. His hands pulled a little at Eren’s hair, and Eren moaned into his mouth as they made their way to the messy bed. 

Armin got twice the reaction when he matched nails to scalp. 

“Oh, Armin,” Eren leaned into the touch, gasping. “You’re so hot.” 

Armin didn’t get that one as often as he’d like, and he appreciated it by pulling Eren’s shirt off his torso and scaling his hands down the length of his chest. He put his hand around Eren’s waist and drew him closer, amazed at how easily Eren moved towards him. 

Eren said his name urgently, shucking Armin’s pants down his legs and immediately getting his hand around the outline of Armin’s erection through his briefs. 

Armin leisurely reciprocated. 

“ _Mm_ , you’re good,” Eren moaned, breaking off for air. Foggy with arousal, Armin still noticed that despite the real passion in his voice, Eren’s eyes were turned down at the corners. Armin hadn't noticed before, so he couldn't say whether they looked like that always or just now. Maybe that was the strange thing about his eyes.

It looked almost like shame. 

An unfamiliar feeling seized Armin. He couldn’t say what propelled him forward into the next thing he said—Eren’s eyes, the conversation they had on the balcony, Eren’s speech from earlier, Armin’s intuition—whatever it was, he dove in. 

“But you know, not everyone is looking for something good.” 

“I—” Eren’s hand froze, squeezed him harder and then trembled. “Yeah, talk to me like that.” 

Armin’s heart shifted in his chest. He felt sudden inspiration, like someone had shot it right into his bloodstream and it was pricking out through his skin. 

“You know that people,” he said, using words that had only slipped through his mind on occasion, “Can become tools to be used.” 

“Yes,” Eren whimpered. “Use me.” 

“That’s what you want?” Armin carefully pulled off Eren’s pants, getting him to lift his hips. 

Eren looked at him. His eyes were really, quite unusually piercing. “I want what you want.” 

Armin shivered. Lube was in the nightside table, and Eren got stark naked fast when he realized what Armin was going to do. 

Eren groaned softly while Armin prepared him, more responsive than partners Armin had slept with in the past. Armin liked the wet pull at his fingers, and the view of Eren's cut hips. So he did it slowly, brain replaying the things they’d just said, momentarily terrified whether they should have said them at all. 

It made him want Eren even more. 

Armin could feel Eren’s heartbeat around the fingers in his ass. It was a strange thought; there were veins there, but he had not felt them so clearly before, the pulse like that of a rhythmic machine. 

“Oh,” said Eren. His hips pumped down, shoving himself on Armin’s last knuckles. Armin had a feeling that leisurely was not a word Eren liked. “Say it like you did earlier.” 

“Which part?”

Eren pursed his lips and looked right into Armin’s eyes. “Any of it.” 

This was going to happen; there was no more postponing to be done. 

It made him feel guilty to say it out loud as much as it made him hot, and his hands pulled more roughly at Eren’s hips, putting him on his hands and knees. 

_Not everyone is looking for something good, and you’re here for me to use you._

Armin said it in bits and pieces as he slowly pushed inside, re-learning the feeling of warmth and tightness. 

Eren was strangely silent as Armin began fucking him, and when he finally spoke up his voice was quiet but tortured. 

“Armin," Eren said, and he arched his back, ass perfectly round. “ _Oh._ I’m a slut, just for you.” 

Armin hadn’t expected that, but he was surprised at how immediately within reach his orgasm suddenly seemed. He managed a quick affirmation. 

Eren was tight and warm, and Armin recklessly pulled him by the waist. He wasn’t particularly athletic, but Eren was particularly willing to be pulled. He listened to the noises their skin made, an obscene slap, while he thought about what else to say. It was difficult with Eren clamping down on him, breathing so loudly, his arousal more than clear. 

He knew what Eren wanted, but he still didn’t know why Eren wanted it. Didn’t know why he wanted it himself, why it felt so good to hear Eren say these things to him, or why he kept saying them back. 

“Look at yourself,” Armin started off with, his mouth finally moving fast as his mind. Eren lifted his head from where he’d shoved it into the pillow. “You’re begging for it. Wet for it.” 

Eren begged more, stuck his ass out to be filled with cock. 

“Like a slut,” Armin said, but he didn’t say it roughly. 

“Yeah. Armin—”

“Touch yourself.” 

Eren made a noise and obeyed. Armin buried himself deeper and palmed Eren’s back, fingers over his spine. 

“Remember you’re here for _me_ ,” Armin said, and he pulled Eren’s hair, watching his mouth go slack and his eyes open to nothing. Eren started coming, releasing over his hand, not shooting very far. Armin could see it drip messy from his hand onto the bed. 

“That’s right,” Eren half-said. 

Armin made as if to pull out, maybe to finish himself on Eren’s sweaty back, but Eren reached back and stopped him. 

“Do it.” 

Armin resumed with new energy. He could feel the pressure building in his body, wanting to escape. He looked at Eren’s curling mouth and knew how hot it sounded when Eren called himself a _slut_ , like he was panting for it, and Armin came, hands gripping tight and brutal on Eren’s tanned waist.

The aftershocks thrummed through him pleasantly, fading to a sweet hum. 

It felt nice to be inside Eren. Armin didn’t want to pull out, but he could feel his own cum squelching inside the condom, so he got up and disposed of it, a cramp starting in one of his hamstrings. Too lazy and too naked to go to the apartment’s bathroom down the hall, Armin reached for tissues and wet them with a half-full water cup from the side table. 

Eren said, “You were wrong,” and Armin went very cold. 

Eren took the water cup and drank with noisy gulps like he’d said nothing at all. 

Armin controlled his voice. “About what was I wrong?” 

Eren stared at him. “I’m looking for something good. There’s me.” 

“I said… Didn’t I say ‘not everyone’?”

“You said it like you didn’t think you were. I think that’s the wrong part.” 

“Not everyone is,” Armin insisted. He was standing naked at the side of Eren’s bed with his dick out, and he’d just fucked while saying the dirtiest things he’d ever managed in his life. Wasn't there some deeply entrenched rule that said you couldn't bring up sex talk when you weren't having sex? 

“I know that.” 

“Do we have to talk about this now?”

Eren’s face smoothed out quickly, eerily, wiped too clean of the emotion that had only just plagued him. “Okay. Do you want to get pizza?”

“Um,” said Armin, whiplashed. “Okay. Where?”

“There’s a place down the street that’s still open.” 

Armin nodded and searched around for his socks. One was inside a pillow, and the other was by the closet. Eren threw on a hoodie and started for the door, tapping his foot like he was impatient. 

“Are you just going to leave that?” Armin looked at the cum drying on the bed. 

“Oh, you’re right,” said Eren. He snagged a towel from the closet and threw it over the wet spots. 

Armin just blinked at him. 

“Now I’ll remember to wash them,” Eren explained. “What?”

“Interesting method,” Armin said, clicking the bedroom door shut behind them. 

 

*

 

By now Armin thought he knew how a hook-up between two incompatible people would go. But the mood lightened as they shoved food down their throats, the banter coming more easily than previous conversations. 

“Do I have to get down on my knees,” Eren said, kicking at the stack of napkins he’d accidentally knocked below the table. 

“I’m certain I’d like you there.”

Armin watched Eren bite down on the straw of his drink, eyes flicking from side to side. There was a couple around their age a few tables away, and a loud group of guys at the other side of the restaurant. 

Armin continued, “I’ve been told I’m not bad on mine, either. My knees, I mean. I’d do you in the bathroom if you could be quiet, but that doesn’t seem likely?” 

Eren was starting to grin, and Armin was having fun now. Eren was something he was still getting used to, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t put his quick learning to use for once. 

There was no one paying enough attention to hear them. 

Armin put his foot over Eren’s under the table. They were both wearing open-toed sandals. 

“What about now?” 

“...Really? You want to here?” Armin had mostly been joking—he wondered if he could get past the obvious risk factor. 

“No, we can use my place again.” 

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

Armin hastily picked up all the garbage from the table and dropped it in the trash as they headed out. 

 

*

 

It was easier the second time, to act like two people who knew each other. Armin got involved in the rigmarole, stripping quickly. 

Eren said, “I’m still stretched, you don’t need to prep me again—” and he went forward laying his weight on his forearms, putting his head down in a cat’s repose so his bare ass stuck straight up in the air, and Armin liked it. 

He liked it, he didn’t know what to do with it, he wanted it. Low in his throat, hot inside his ears, this was something he hadn’t known about himself, that he could want someone like this all the time, so badly he’d do him twice in one day, twice in a row—

“I’m not going to fuck you like that, Eren.” Armin pushed him onto his back, savoring how easily Eren’s body fell at such a light touch. Eren’s mouth twisted up, obviously confused but waiting. 

Armin moved faster, and he walked on his knees until he was positioned above Eren’s cock, the flushed head barely brushing the cheeks of Armin’s ass. “I'm going to fuck you like this.”

Armin waited, and Eren didn’t disappoint. The blush of skin around his hairline deepened, and his mouth untwisted into an O, and he breathed, “Yes.”

“Give me your fingers,” Armin said. They were longer than his own, and Eren stretched them out willingly. As Armin dripped them with lube, he thought about the pulse he’d felt in Eren’s ass and told himself not to laugh. 

“What is it?” Eren said, more perceptive than Armin had thought. 

Armin explained easily, face loosening as he took the next finger. 

“Funny...” Eren moved his fingers experimentally. “I guess I can feel yours too if I try.” 

“How fast is it going?” 

Armin expected an answer in beats per minute, but instead Eren started crooking his fingers rhythmically, saying plainly, “About _this_ fast,” and Armin started gasping, sparks going hot up his spine. 

“Oh my god.” 

It didn’t take long before he was warmed and they were both ready. The slick texture of the condom was foreign as Armin slowly, slowly began to sink down, but minutes later, once he was moving faster, Eren’s fingers over his quivering thighs, he almost convinced himself he could feel bare skin. 

Eren finished pretty quickly, calling Armin’s name as he came. He bit his cheek, looking a little embarrassed, and asked if Armin would please lie back. Armin scooted back on the bed, momentarily empty. 

As he lay himself between Armin’s legs, looking eager to use his mouth to finish him, Eren said, “Was I good?” 

His voice was pleading but sincere, and Armin didn’t know what he was looking for. 

“Yes.”

 

*

 

It was two weeks later and nearly summer by the time the next party rolled around. Soon, Jean would be heading back to his hometown. Armin didn’t know what Eren would do, since he had another term of school left. It wasn’t the kind of thing they talked about. They’d met up only once since their first hookup, and it had gone the same way as the first, sex and saying weird things. 

When Armin arrived, Jean placed a drink in his hand, and Armin made a face and considered asking Eren for the egg drink again. 

Armin’s body was acting strange, humming with the knowledge that Eren was nearby. His neck was stiff, not letting him turn his head more than necessary, out of self-consciousness that he would see Eren before Eren saw him. He spotted Annie and Mikasa in the TV room and made his way over, noticing too late who they were talking to. 

“I forgot to ask,” Eren was saying. He looked tired under his eyes, but his posture was straight as always. “What’d you decide about the class?” 

“Our last paper is most of the grade. I’m going to fail,” said Annie, her tone barely lifting at the end to indicate she was surprised Eren had felt there could be any other outcome. 

“You aren’t,” Armin said mildly. “Annie, really?” 

“Yeah, fuck that.” Ymir leaned against the wall, one hand stuck in the pocket of her trousers. “Wanna swap papers?”

Annie frowned. “What?” 

“Just sayin’, I intend to write shit that fully agrees with all of his bullshit opinions, since I was not spending more time than I have to for this dude who won’t change his mind no matter what. And I need time for other stuff. But I can take a bad grade, and from what I’m hearing, you can’t. So give me your paper, and you’ll get the word across.” 

Silence. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Annie shifted her eyes to the wall. “Well then. For now, I’ll say yes.” She offered Mikasa a fist bump, and the group laughed. 

“What’s that called?” Ymir looked directly at Armin, grinning. “Zero-sum?” She laughed when he broke eye contact first. 

_I should have thought of that,_ Armin said to himself, and he sat himself down on the couch. 

Eren went to go change the music. He danced and sang along to the lyrics, bending over his computer. 

Armin swallowed. He figured he had to admit, at some point, to being charmed. It was more than relating on an intellectual level, but less than that too, because he didn’t know Eren’s life story at all—he’d only recently learned Eren’s last name. 

Armin’s neck was so tense, and he tilted his head from side to side, shrugging each shoulder to make it dissipate.

The song changed. Eren straightened up. He was coming over to Armin, face intense and serious like the last time they’d fucked. Armin watched, ankles and knees locked into place, an invisible flush overtaking his chest. He flapped his thin shirt in an ineffective attempt to ward off the heat. 

Looking oddly unsure of himself, Eren sat down next to him, and they both sank further into the mottled couch. 

Armin still had his own question to ask, but he wanted to know what Eren was about to say first. He angled his body towards him, ready to hear many things—an invitation to make things official. A breakup of whatever informal thing they had going on. A simple greeting. 

But right before Eren spoke, Armin got the feeling that he might not know at all, and this, more than anything, thrilled him all the way to his toes. 

Armin’s question had been, _if that’s how people are, intrinsically good and everything, then what does that make_ me? 

But suddenly, gloriously, he didn’t think he needed to ask it anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://kaiosea.tumblr.com/post/123250427935/everything-we-thought-we-knew-until-now-eremin)
> 
> Comments are amazing! I'm interested in concrit as well, and if you'd prefer to leave that elsewhere I have a post on an anon meme:
> 
> http://anonconcrit.dreamwidth.org/343.html?thread=43351#cmt43351


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